


Daddy Issues

by bananamilkk



Category: Great Pretender (Anime)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Trauma, Daddy Issues, Domestic Violence, Drug Dealing, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Gang Rape, Gang Violence, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, One Shot, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Relationship(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rescue Missions, Russian Mafia, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:53:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26337517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananamilkk/pseuds/bananamilkk
Summary: Everyone knows Makoto has daddy issues. His father appeared on the news… and not for a good reason. His father ruined his entire childhood up till his 20s, until he met Laurent Thierry. He thought he had found peace with himself… Until today. Seiji Ozaki stands in front of him, unscathed, unchanging. The same ugly face, mouse brown hair, sporting the same brown suit on the day he was caught.Makoto defences were thoroughly broken down, his being completely dominated and used by the scum that called himself ‘Makoto’s father’. Will Laurent be able to reach into the darkness and pull the young male out? Or will he be too late?
Relationships: Edamura Makoto & Laurent Thierry, Edamura Makoto/Laurent Thierry
Comments: 12
Kudos: 268





	Daddy Issues

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Read at your own risk. If you're easily triggered by stuff like non-con/rape, why did you even click this? Anyways, I don't go too deep into the physical acts, so, there's not much smut or sex inside this fic (if you'd like something lighter, do check out my other Laurent Thierry X Edamura Makoto fic!)

Dinner was great. They had flown back to Nice from London. The city was gorgeous, perhaps due to the huge sum they managed to get off from Coleman, but the food they ate, the view they saw were at least two times better. Filling full of lobsters and expensive cheeses, Abbie had parted ways with the group heading back to America, while Cynthia stayed in London. Kudo and Shi-won merrily skipped all the way to the airport and boarded the earliest flight back to Japan. And like this, the whole group was disbanded, leaving Makoto with Laurent. Life was back to normal, it felt like the day after visiting Disneyland. The magic wore off, exposing the fatigue, and the lacklustre world everyone lives in. Laurent had booked first-class tickets for himself as well as Makoto—though Makoto felt like it was weird since Laurent has a private jet, why spend more money to get a first-class ticket?

Laurent, being the flowery, carefree man he is, was reluctant to leave Makoto, but he had to get back home… to deal with whatever he needs to deal with. Thus, Makoto was all alone, dragging his suitcase against the cobblestone streets back to the boarding house. He jingled the spare key in his hand, wondering if Marie and Sebastien were still awake. It was the middle of the night, but some lights were still on in the houses he passed by. The way to the house was a long cobblestone pathway surrounded by houses with minimal street lights. It wasn’t that easy to walk, but once every pitch dark minutes, there would come the life-saving street light. The orange glow gave little warmth to the stark winter air.

At the start, Makoto was afraid to walk the streets at night, since darkness was something uncommon in a concrete jungle like Tokyo. Most places had tons of streetlights, if not, buildings would have obnoxious blaring neon signs to light up the night. He never did feel unsafe. Nice had a relatively low crime rate—compared to Paris, where pickpocketing was frequent, Nice is a good place to live in… for foreigners anyway.

However, on this quiet night, he could hear footsteps behind him. He thought he had heard wrong since the wheels on his luggage were quite loud on the uneven ground. But those footsteps matched his. If he walked slower, the footsteps would slow. If he walked faster, those footsteps almost seemed frenzied. The person behind him was most likely a male—from the wide and long strides that could be heard. Wearing dress shoes, the heels clicked onto the ground in an obvious way.

Makoto frowned and shook his fear out of him. If he were a robber or kidnapper, he wouldn’t wear dress shoes. Dress shoes were the noisiest shoes to wear. Makoto would be able to hear him from a few feet away. However, he was scared to look back. The Japanese male could only hurry. His sneakers digging into the cobblestone as he dragged his heavy luggage almost frantically. Makoto pursed his lips as he sees the orange glow fade away… enveloping him in darkness once again. Just a few more steps… 5 big strides and he would be under the safe streetlight again.

Those footsteps were nearing him. In the darkness, there was no shadow. Makoto couldn’t even look at his feet to see how close the person behind him was. He gulped, breaking into a run. He needed to get back under the light. It wasn’t that Makoto had no confidence fighting off the man behind him, but the unknown amplified the fear coursing through Makoto’s veins.

“ **Wait**!”

Hm? _Japanese_? Makoto panted as he finally stepped back into the warm glow, likening it to a welcoming embrace. He spun around to face his stalker… and, he probably shouldn’t have done that.

It was an all too familiar face for Edamura Makoto. The same face that haunts his dreams every now and then. The man had the same mousy brown hair (close to black) he inherited, as well as the same nose, eyes and lips that reflected (too creepily) with his own. It was as if he was looking into a mirror—and that was how he’d look like 20 years down the line. He felt bile rise at the back of his throat which Makoto had to try hard to swallow back down. However, swallowing down the fact that… this scum was in front of him once again… wasn’t easy. He looked him in the eye. The dark brown orbs reflected his own blanched expression. He looked horrible. Maybe it was the flight back home, the fatigue that had built up from the past few days or… the sight of his **father**.

“W—what… are you doing here?” Shit, his voice was unstable, wavering in uncertainty and fear. Makoto chomped down on his lips to stop them from trembling. His stomach felt heavy as he felt cold sweat trickle down his spine. He didn’t want to think… but memories of the horrible past he suffered came flooding back in. It was very hard keeping down the expensive champagne he had on the plane… and so he didn’t. He vomited, his hands were a second too late to stop his projectile vomit onto the cobblestone ground and vomit covered his fingers, seeping through them. He gagged as he tasted his sour stomach acid on his tongue.

He looked down. The man was standing opposite him. The same shoes he wore when he exited the house that day. Brown Armani leather shoes. The same pointed tip, thick heeled and the same exact tiny scratch on the left side of his right shoe. That day was unforgettable, like a slave branded by a scorching white rod, the same scene of him and his mother in front of the television watching their family member getting arrested was branded into his mind. His existence refused that memory but his mind wouldn’t let him forget… even after all this time. He thought he was healed.

“Tsk… How have you been doing?” Makoto thought he had heard wrong. The man clicked his tongue…? And even asked him how he had been doing? He gasped for air, finding it hard to breathe. They weren’t on a mountain, but why was the air so thin? His lungs couldn’t process the air that Makoto was breathing in. How had he been living? The first memory of his self-orchestrated con was still fresh in his mind. It was a small yakuza gang… who knows if they were really affiliated to the yakuza, perhaps they were just using the yakuza’s name. But it didn’t go well of course. He was still young and foolish. He had to work for them for 1 year, putting up with the abuse… physically and… sexually until he managed to outsmart them and robbed their bank accounts clean. It wasn’t pleasant, but Makoto stopped trying to retain his sanity (and also avoided gang members). Regular civilians were so much easier, dumber and…

Shit… Vile memories clouded Makoto’s judgement. He had forgotten the time he spent in prison. The time **_before_** prison… with Laurent. Laurent never had many values (as one can tell from his promiscuous ways) but he never tricks regular hard-working civilians. They were innocent— not dumb, stupid and easy. The things Laurent taught were easily slipping away, getting replaced by his dirty past— all because of the man in front of him. Anger quickly filled his being. The sudden resentment felt so painful as it burst within him, knocking every value out of him as fast as it came.

“Y—you! What right do you have to ask me such a fucking dumb question?” He snarled. Makoto never snarled at anyone before. He was even surprised at the back of his head. It was like someone was driving the body of Edamura Makoto. His being was in a back seat, watching everything unfold. He could see from his cloudy and blurry screen—maybe his tears, the vile man. He didn’t have any expression on. Oh god, he didn’t change at all… he never had any intentions to. Time in prison did nothing for this vile scum. He was so angry, but Edamura Makoto couldn’t control his body.

Was the man that shared the same blood as him ever this disgusting? Ever since he was born, he was greeted with heart-warming smiles from the same man that was a child trafficker. Does he… use those smiles to trick children into doing…

Vomit rose at the back of his throat but he swallowed it back down. If he wanted to vomit, he didn’t want to ruin his only good pair of sneakers, he would vomit it all up onto the rotten man’s face.

“Now, now… It’s been a couple of years since we last saw each other. I’m still your father. Remember how we used to play cars together? Remember how I let your ride my back and we’d go around the whole house?” The words coming out of the man’s mouth sounded sick, crazy even. Those innocent words were converted into trash whenever it came out from Seiji Ozaki’s mouth.

“NO! Don’t you dare mention those times! Those were the worst times in my fucking life. As if you didn’t ruin my childhood… why…” He hands were clenched into fists. Those **weren’t** the worst times in his life. Those were the happiest. There is a saying ‘Ignorance is bliss’. He had lived a happy life not knowing his father was a rapist and child trafficker. His mother was healthy and alive. His father would always come back home from work as a lawyer to their 3 storey house. They were well off, ate and dressed well—if Makoto knew where the money was from, he would have burnt all his belongings. Ozaki would bring young girls to play with Makoto (nothing bad, it was all innocent barbies and robot toys) playing it off as his colleagues’ daughters— oh god… Makoto paled. He never revisited his past memories… perhaps it was good he didn’t, but it was already too late. He felt too sick to stand, but he couldn’t just drop down on the rough cobblestone floors.

“I heard what you’ve been doing… and I would say, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, no?” A vile smile spread from cheek to cheek. Makoto could barely see, but this was the scariest thing he ever laid his eyes on. In his dreams, Seiji Ozaki would always be deadpanned standing in the corner of any room he was in. Sometimes it would be his mother’s hospital room or his classroom—where he was repeatedly bullied by his peers. That man would just stand there watching everything. It was scary, but he didn’t say a single word. His eyes almost look dead—like a fish left on the pier for too long. Empty and glassy.

“W—why are you doing this?” Makoto cried. He didn’t notice when, but hot tears had already streamed down his cheeks, stinging his skin.

“Oh, Makoto, don’t cry. I’ve changed. Don’t worry about anything. I’m here to take you back home. France isn’t a nice country, Japan is where we belong.” Makoto frowned, as if Japan would want him in their country. He had been the biggest villain of the year back then. Child trafficking is taken seriously— perhaps even more serious than murder. When it comes to children, authorities, government, citizens take matters into hand. So when the news of the countless girls missing turned out to be all done by 3 men—one of them being Seiji Ozaki, needless to say, on his way to court, eggs weren’t the only things people threw at him. Some girls were not found after all. Imagine the pain and suffering the parents had to go through. Seiji Ozaki never changed. On his way to court, he wasn’t ashamed of the cameras… nor did he endure the vile things people threw at him. He fought back… like a shameless rat.

“Changed… Don’t make me laugh.” Makoto’s body shook. His shoulders heaving up and down. He didn’t know it was him trying to suppress a sick laugh or his fear taking a toll on his body, but his legs gave way—but before he could hit the floor, the man’s arms were around his torso. His knees never hit the floor and his face was buried into Seiji Ozaki’s suit jacket.

“G—get—get away!” Makoto screamed though it came out barely a whisper. He pushed hard, falling onto his bum.

“I’m trying to help. I know you aren’t doing anything good with that… French man.” He spat out the last 2 words like they were something he had for lunch stuck at the back of his gums… something like a disturbance.

“My boy, do you think that man will be there for you 24/7? Look, he isn’t here now, and you’re scared shitless from looking at your own father.” Seiji Ozaki laughed like he was telling the funniest thing he ever told. He looked down at Makoto on the floor, his eyes deprave of any sanity, stared into Makoto’s brown orbs.

“I’ll be there for you. Let’s go back to the old times. We were so close back then. C’mon, slugger.” He stretched out his hand for Makoto to grab.

Slugger… that was the nickname his father had given him when he was 5 years old. They used to love playing baseball. His father had a natural talent in pitching, and so did Makoto. They had so much fun practicing. His father found a junior baseball team in the local community centre and enrolled him in there. They would go for practice every Sunday, then along with a group of his friends and their fathers, they would head to the nearby ice cream store to get some icy cold sweet treats. Seiji Ozaki would call it ‘men’s day’, and all the little boys would be happy— because children will always be children, and all they want is to grow up.

They had much in common, his father and him. They had the same interest, the same talents—as if they were inherited, and the same looks. Their mother would look at them endearingly and sometimes even buy matching t-shirts to dress them up. People around the block found it so cute… they were the talk of the town (well, for a good reason back then). His father’s lying, cheating ways… they were all in him. Laurent had said, he was the ‘best conman in the whole of Japan’. It was the reason why Laurent searched for him and how they ended up working together. The ties they formed were all because of Seiji Ozaki. If he didn’t inherit his father’s cheating and lying ways, who was Edamura Makoto? He would cease to exist— Laurent wouldn’t even be in his life. He would never have met the pretty, older sister figure in his life—Cynthia. Nor would he have met Abbie— despite fighting a lot, they had gotten close during the chain of incidents in Singapore. He would say they were close friends at this point.

That’s right. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Inside of him, the same genes lie. He was as good as cheating and lying as his father. If he closes his eyes, his morals are the same too… they were just focusing on different things. His father, on child trafficking, while he was on conning rich men and women. What’s the difference? Crime was crime. To boil it down, crime is something illegal. Taking away money from rich, undeserving people like Robin Hood was still crime… liken it to child trafficking? There really is no difference.

Robin Hood never had a happy ending anyway.

The hands he grabbed was unexpectedly warm in the cold winter night.

…

The plan was stupid. He had worked alone on smaller cons and bigger ones with Laurent, but he has never seen such a stupid plan. Seiji was sitting on a brown sofa back in **their** home. His legs kicked up onto an old recycled coffee table. The whole room stunk of cigarettes… cheap ones. Makoto was never bothered about the smell of cigarettes, after all, Laurent did smoke some. Though, the smell was starkly different. The ones Laurent smokes smelt of bitter chocolates while the ones Seiji smokes smelt like burnt paper and sewer. Though, who was Makoto to say anything. The only thing he could do is open up the windows to their second storey apartment. He was back in Japan, back to the same apartment he had rented from a senile old man. Makoto had wondered why the elderly even bothered to earn money. Half of the tenants drag out their payment— and some, like Makoto, doesn’t pay completely. Sure, the place was trash, but it still goes for quite a sum. A good enough sum for the old man to retire. Seiji had picked the envelope of cash for rent spending it on pachinko. When Makoto asked his father where the money went, Seiji would just brush it off like it was nothing—saying the old man ‘doesn’t even remember’.

Does Makoto get angry? Not anymore.

He gives in. Like a shitty, wimpy person he is.

“So, how is it?” Seiji puffed out smoke from his lips. He was smiling like an idiot as if the piece of yellowed paper he wrote the ‘plan’ in was his masterpiece. Makoto wondered how his father even tricked young girls and trafficked them with that brain of his—no, how did he even manage to get a law degree? But well, he did fight for himself and gotten 5 years lesser than his original sentence. He could learn a thing or two about arguing with people from his father. He had always lost when he fought with Abbie in the past… Makoto sighed. He didn’t like thinking about Laurent, Abbie, Cynthia… and even Kudo and Shi-won. It just made his heart ache. He had tossed his phone when he exited France and he doesn’t memorise anyone’s number… Who knows if they were even looking for him? Marie and Sebastien were left a carelessly written note of him taking a trip around the world (as if that was _believable_ ). He did leave them a couple of hundreds for his remaining rent and also a bit more to thank them for their hospitality these few months… but will they even care?

“It’s dumb.” One thing that’s changed was how Makoto talked to his father. He wasn’t going to treat the man with respect, much less call him ‘dad’, like how he used to call him. Seiji should be happy Makoto wasn’t calling him ‘trash’. He picked up the paper. The ugly handwriting scrawled across the yellowed page. They were deciding on how to handle a rather big con. The target was José Antonio, a foreigner from Mexico. Even though José isn’t part of the higher-ups in a cartel, he is pretty big in the country and his ‘inventory’ is from the cartel in Russia. It was common for Russia to dip their toes into Mexico’s drug business. It was like 2 big companies having joint projects. Apparently, José works for the boss on Mexico’s side, but those 2 took advantage of Russia and secretly steals part of their trade, distributing it to the lower communities. Drug laws are strict in Japan, which means the rarity is high—hence José took the opportunity to sell the stolen inventory here, in a conspicuous country Russia would never expect—Japan.

The most obvious route to get to José’s weakness was to exploit the fact that he had stolen Russia’s inventory. However, Seiji wanted to get befriend José and make him invest in a fake company and steal their stock. It didn’t even make sense. It was as if the plan was made by a 10-year-old. If conning people were that easy, everyone would be filthy rich. Firstly, befriending someone from the cartel is tough. Layers and layers of security would be involved. They would have to start from the bottom up—from drug dealers to distributors, then finally to José Antonio. Secondly, Seiji’s ‘fake company’ was a night club for José to distribute his goods. **As if** the man himself didn’t have an affiliate in a night club, strip club or wherever it is they do their business. Thirdly, stealing stock was harder than just writing it on a piece of dirty paper he probably got from the pachinko. They weren’t his men, so how would they even manage to get their hands on the drugs?

“Why?” Seiji asked, rolling his eyes at Makoto.

“It’s just dumb.” Makoto sighed, leaning back against the armchair across Seiji. He buried his face into the crook of his arm and stretched out his legs. He was tired. They had money… especially from the time he spent with Laurent, but he hated the fact this man was spending it on gambling. He never liked gambling. It was stupid and he didn’t believe he could ever win anyways. Though it wasn’t ‘hard-earned’ money, it was still his. He would rather spend the money on the old man’s rent. Maybe he did have a spec of his old self in him. He feels guilt.

“Oh, wait. I didn’t mention did I? I know someone on the inside, and I recommended you to José. He’ll bring you in.”

“What? Bring me in as what?”

“As José’s bitch.” He lit another cigarette, not before snuffing out the short one in his fingers.

“What the fuck?!” Makoto screamed. The apartment walls weren’t exactly well made. If they were even to raise their voices a little, the conversation could be heard from next door, clear as day. So when Makoto screamed, loud banging from the left wall replied to him. They were lucky they lived in the corner unit.

“He likes young boys… Japanese ones especially. You’re in your 20s already, but your body is skinny. You can pass off as a teen.”

Makoto felt sick. He never thought his father would sell him out like that. Has he ever loved the family? Or were he and his mother just liabilities for this man? This was the first time Makoto even heard, seen or chanced upon a father prostituting his son out just to gain favour… No, he should have known. His father wasn’t exactly the best person on Earth. If there was a scale, his father would be at the other end of the stick. Makoto was just shutting his eyes to his father’s deeds. In the past few weeks of living together, his father would come home drunk and smelt of sex. His pants would be unbuttoned showing his underwear as he walked home in a stupor. Makoto never said anything about that. When his father brought back empty bottles of beer like they were his trophies, Makoto looked away. Even when he saw the women he brought back with dubious consent, he just pulled his covers over him and stuffed a pillow over his ears. Their moans would sound like nails scratching on a chalkboard, but he didn’t scream at them. He just swallowed his fear.

“Don’t worry. I will make sure it doesn’t get too far. No, I will make sure nothing happens. How can I let my slugger get touched by dirty foreigners?” The man laughed at his son’s blanched expression.

Slugger… that nickname again. He felt sick in the stomach. Food never sat well with him these days. He could feel himself getting skinnier. Whenever he closed his eyes, he would dream of those happy memories—as if they were his only escape. He dreamt of playing baseball with his friends and his father would stand at the side cheering him on. His face was… so much younger. Time in prison made him ugly with the negative emotions inside of him. Sometimes, Makoto would be transported to somewhere else. This time, Singapore. He would be in the same hotel room he shared with Laurent—Abbie and Cynthia were there too, and they would all play cards. When they got bored, they would gather the cards and try to see who could build the highest card tower.

He didn’t know if he could place his trust in the man in front of him. However, he had decided to go along with his father, back to Japan. Perhaps, he had wanted to get back what he missed. He missed those times his father played catch with him. Those times when Seiji would smile at him like he was the most precious gem in the world. He thought if he was so alike Seiji, the man would accept him finally— maybe show him some love even though he was the most disgusting man on Earth, he craved this man’s fatherly attention deep down.

But reality was, oh so, different.

If he listened to his father, would things change for the better?

…

He stared at the boy in front of him. The boy looked similar to him. He was half-naked, sporting a leather harness that wrapped around his neck and went around his shoulders that clips in the front. His nipples were stiff from the lack of clothing. The room wasn’t exactly cold, but without coverage, those pink nubs couldn’t help but get hard. His stomach was flat and taut, almost too skinny. He sported a black boxer brief—that was way smaller than what his size needed, and thigh-high socks. The boy was uncomfortable. The black-haired man standing behind him hummed in satisfaction as he placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders.

“You look great, Slugger.” He smiled, almost sincerely. Makoto was staring at his own reflection. He couldn’t help but disassociate for a second. He couldn’t imagine himself ever wearing such an outfit—if this garb could be called one. He was barely wearing anything except for socks, leather belts on his chests, and underwear. He really did look like a young teen. He had shaved his pubic hair and armpits for this day—something Seiji insisted he did. Though, Makoto hoped he never has to show José Antonio any privates of his. Makoto turned to look at his father’s approving face. He was almost ashamed of himself feeling happy from his father’s pat on his shoulder. He was selling himself out. Why was he happy to get his father’s approval for doing that?

“My friend will be coming in a few minutes. Here, wear this coat. Take it off once you’ve reached the place.” Seiji got out a big trench coat, draping it over his son’s shoulders. Makoto slipped into it, tying the straps at his waist. It covered his whole body until his mid shins. Not a regular civilian’s soul could imagine what he was wearing under the ugly coat. His nipples rubbed uncomfortably against the cheap material, but he tried to ignore it, just following his father out of the apartment. He slipped into his sneakers—the same one he wore for the past few months. He had gotten this sneaker as a gift from Cynthia for his commemoration of their first con they pulled together back in Singapore. She was a huge spender (as one can tell from her private island and jets), and would always buy gift too generously for the people she loved. Makoto couldn’t help but tear his eyes away from the sneakers as his nose turned sour from wanting to cry. He would burst into tears at any moment if not for his father being uncomfortably close to him. He had his hands around his shoulders guiding down the young male.

They went down the steps of the apartment down to the ground floor and was greeted by a black car. To the right of the car, stood a middle-aged Asian man. He didn’t look Japanese though, perhaps, Chinese. He sported an immaculate suit—very much like how Makoto pictured the cartels would dress. The Chinese man clearly didn’t have any difficulties speaking Japanese as he held the door open.

“Please enter. Before you do, put on this blindfold. You know, for privacy reasons.”

Makoto gulped as he received the blindfold from the muscled male. He hooked the sides of the blindfold onto his ears, enveloping himself into darkness. He was a little jittery, but he could still rely on his hearing to get by, giving him some sense of security. He heard a rustle— some sort of paper shuffling… like counting money. He gulped. What the hell did his father get him into? The crunch of the gravel travelled to his ears, someone had shifted the weight of their feet.

“Slugger, I won’t be able to follow you. Don’t worry, you’ll come home safe.” He felt a hand pat his shoulder, but couldn’t help but jump from the unknowing touch. His heart was beating too loudly. He could even hear his heartbeat hammering against his ribcage.

“D—Dad… don’t leave me.” Makoto whispered, reaching around. His hand was about to reach for his blindfold to take it off before someone’s hand grabbed his.

“Mr Edamura, do not worry, no harm will come to you.” The Chinese man said before pushing Makoto’s head down and guiding him into the car.

“Dad!” He raised his voice but he still sounded weak and feeble.

“It’s okay! It’s okay, Slugger! Remember the plan and you’ll be fine!” Seiji reached into the car to pat Makoto’s leg, but Makoto could only jump and bring his legs closer to himself as if he was burnt by his father’s touch. He was breathing heavily, with his arms around himself. Makoto was so afraid if he let his arms free, he would go ballistic at anyone who touched him at the moment. He heard the car door slam and his heart sunk. What plan? They never did have an exact plan when he meets José Antonio. Why was he so reckless? Why did he agree to this just to gain that scum’s love? Makoto admitted he had daddy issues, but he didn’t know it’d transform him into a totally different person. His hatred for that scum was close to gone, filled with the aggressive desire to gain favour with the man who was so similar to him. Why was he so contradictory? Why can’t feelings for a person be in black and white? If he hated Seiji Ozaki, he hates Seiji Ozaki— why is he feeling desperation for his love now?

Imagine giving a starving child a piece of bread— it wasn’t enough. ‘Slugger’ wasn’t enough. He wanted his father to praise him… but to what extent? All these reckless, crazy actions for that worthless man’s praise? The darkness gave him time to think. The car ride was quiet, Makoto just assumed the man wasn’t the type to turn on the radio. He tried calming himself down. He’ll be fine. Didn’t Seiji Ozaki tell him nothing would go wrong? He wanted to put his trust into his father… but could he? His last remaining bit of sanity still clung on.

How long had it been since they left? Makoto could only feel the bumps on the roads and the soft purr of the engine as the man drove for quite some time. Where would he end up in? If something were to happen, how could he escape? He had the blindfold on the entire time. If they ended up in the middle of nowhere, Makoto would not know where to go.

“We’re here, Mr Edamura.” The engine stopped and all that’s left to be heard was the soft breathing of the 2 men in the car.

“O-okay… Thank you.” Makoto reached out to take off his blindfold. It was already dark by the time they reached. The sun was still orange when they set out, but time passed by too fast. He gulped as he placed the blindfold on the sit of the car and exited. His feet hit gravel first. Big, uneven gravel. They weren’t in the town area since there weren’t any streetlights around him. Makoto had grown up in Tokyo and this was the first time he knew Tokyo had such a place. He was standing in front of a huge Japanese gate. It was a traditional house—the wood was way too new to be one of those houses passed down through generations, but the market price is still high. Does José Antonio live here?

“Give me your coat.” The man behind him extended his hand.

“Huh? O—oh...” Makoto blinked and unwillingly stripped himself of the trench coat. Even though it was cheap and uncomfortable, he’d rather wear that then expose his body in the cold night air. However, no one was around except for the driver. The man didn’t even look bothered, as if he saw this scene way too many times. Unwavering, he pushed open the wooden gates and led the way inside.

It was your typical Japanese house. A beautiful courtyard with a small koi pond. The deer scare at the corner of the pond gave tranquility to the whole house— no, it was as big as a mansion. The front annexe had dark blue-tiled roofs and the typical paper doors. The man led him up to the first annexe and slid the door open. The insides were… rather different. If Japanese homes were designed by a foreigner using the concept of Japanese samurais, this would be it. Gaudy calligraphy paintings filled the walls with scrolls even Makoto couldn’t even read. Weapons and armours were used as common decoration in the room.

“This is the waiting room… though, Mr Antonio has ordered you be brought to the back.” The Chinese man said. He stepped inside, but not before removing his shoes. Makoto followed suit as they walked through the waiting room. As if this was a huge maze, doors after doors, the man in front of him slid the paper doors open and close, the twists and turns they took made Makoto’s head hurt from trying to memorise the route. They finally reached a room. It didn’t have the typical sliding doors, but a normal western door.

The man knocked before opening. Immediately, with the little opening gap to the room, heavy cigarette smell stung Makoto’s nose. It wasn’t as bad as the ones his father smokes, but it still clung to his lungs like toxic air. He coughed as he entered the room. The room didn’t match the rest of the house. It looked more like a karaoke room more than anything. There were black sofa seats lining the walls of the room, with a big glass table in the centre. About 4 men sat on the sofas, all spread apart, either puffing cigarettes or drinking hard liquor. Makoto gulped, realising what he was in for.

“Ooh! My god, José, where did you find this one?” A blonde man sitting to the right side of the room cheered. He had an obnoxious Italian accent.

“My man, Miyama said he has a friend who’s son is as pretty as a flower.” Makoto looked over to the man who spoke. José was a middle-aged man, perhaps the same age as Makoto’s father. He was slightly plump—he wasn’t ugly per se, perhaps even above average. However, one could tell he was a scary man. He was wearing a thin silk button-down shirt, but through the white silk, a gun was strapped under his chest. His right leg was propped onto his left knee, and with his pants riding up a little, another smaller gun could be seen. If he were to say anything wrong, José could simply reach easily to his ankles and shoot. Sure, he had worked with Cassano’s mafia before where guns were everywhere, but it was so different with having one near your vicinity.

“Just leave, Chang.” José waved the driver away, and Makoto was left alone with the 4 men in the room. The door clicked behind him and dread seeped deep into his being.

“Baby, what’s your name?” José asked in Japanese, his awful accent could be heard but one could tell he really tried hard to study Japanese. If he didn’t like Japan, why would his whole house be modelled after a samurai’s playhouse?

“M—Makoto Edamura.” The younger male stammered. He could feel the men’s stare on his body. He felt like vomiting. Flashbacks of his time with the small gang years ago came flooding back into him. The feeling of someone leering at your body was disgusting—it felt like ants were crawling all over you but you can’t brush them away. He pressed his legs together as he hugged himself. He was trying to shield his nipples away from their stares.

“You have such a lovely name, Makoto. Come here. Sit.” José patted the seat beside him. Makoto walked over, stepping over the other men’s legs, he felt one of them slide their hand against the outer part of his thighs. The places he was touched felt unnatural… it almost felt like his skin was burning off.

“Let me introduce you.” José started, but not before pouring Makoto a drink. The expensive whiskey sloshed in the crystal glass as the older man brought the glass to Makoto’s lips. He was forced to drink, but he wasn’t stupid to push away the glass. The liquid burnt his throat and dribbled down his chin, but he swallowed anyways, feeling the warmth spread slowly inside of him. He panted as he finished the entire glass at once. The other man laughed at him… maybe because he was such a wuss at drinking. Redness filled Makoto’s cheeks.

“This is Alex Dawson, John Wang and Rick Ramirez.” He pointed to blonde Italian, a Chinese man, and a Mexican with bleached yellow hair, respectively. They were all older than Makoto, sporting loose dress shirts and dress pants as if they were a bunch of working adults after a whole day of work. Their suit jackets were thrown messily over the sofas, soaking up the stench of cigarettes and booze. Alex Dawson was José Antonio’s right-hand man while John Wang was his business partner. From what Makoto had researched, John runs a Chinese restaurant that deals with under the table money lending in Japan. Rick Ramirez was actually a guest staying for a few months with José’s crew. He holds the same position as José and they’re working under the same boss.

Makoto tries to memorise their faces, but before he could even look around, he felt José’s hand snake up his waist. A gasp escaped his lips as he spun to face the rugged man. He was trembling under those rough palms. Those hands that were used to kill women, children… and countless men that crossed him. Those hands were touching him. The rough callouses smoothed over Makoto’s soft skin. The recipient of the touch didn’t know whether to tremble under the touch or moan in pleasure. He was scared shitless. Those hands moved up, grazing his left nipple. José’s eyes were on him, his hands were testing the product. He wanted to see if he pressed the right buttons, what sounds would the toy make.

“S—stop… Please, Mr Antonio.” Makoto tried to wiggle out of José’s hold, but the other man had his feet on top of one of his thighs, holding him down.

“I like him.” John laughed, refilling the cup José had fed him earlier.

“Go on, drink. John poured you another.” José urged. His fingers now more daringly pinched the hard nub. The young male jumped as he tried to put some distance between the two of them.

“C’mon, Makoto, take your cup.” John pushed the crystal glass half filled with whiskey. His black eyes stared at the scared boy as he urged the younger male to pick it up and down it. Makoto had to comply. He took the glass in one hand, careful not to spill as José was touching him aggressively. Maybe, the alcohol would help make things go smoother. Perhaps he was too uptight. If he had some alcohol in his system, the cogs would work better. Makoto downed the glass of whiskey. It wasn’t bad, since it probably costs a few millions of yen. He let the fluid burn his throat as he shuddered against the warm sensation spreading to the tip of his body.

“Jeez, you’re so cute.” José chuckled. He pulled Makoto’s thighs towards him, forcing the boy to straddle him. Makoto had drunk quite a lot, perhaps the alcohol hadn’t completely kicked in, but his nerves were like a ticking time bomb. He was sweaty and scared against the cartel member’s touch. José took his nipple into his mouth sucking and attaching himself to the sweet teat, while his other hand roamed down south.

Makoto wasn’t hard when José touched him. He cried as he felt the older man pull on him teasingly. Nothing was going on in his head. Like deer in headlights, his body couldn’t even respond properly. He was freezing up—

He could remember. 6 years ago on the day of a hot summer. He was working for the ‘yakuza’, a small gang that hides under the pretence of a film distributing company— but they just film porn and distribute it illegally. He had tons of things to do that day and he was finally done. He had set up the porn set, cleaned the office, escort the boss’s wife to the airport, fetch one of the subordinates from juvie and finally, he collapsed on a dirty mattress in one of the old rooms the members used to film porn in. He would sometimes come into the room to lie down for a while—while cursing the bosses and members. He was always roped into doing shit work for the group.

Before he could catch some z’s, the door swung open. The company normally uses its members as casts and get female porn stars from outside. Sometimes, they would even coerce regular women on the streets to be in their video. The member for that day who was supposed to film was the boss’s secretary (he does nothing a normal secretary would do though). He wasn’t a nice man to Makoto—but none of the members was nice to him. They would beat him up when he looks at them ‘weird’.

“It’s your turn today.” The man had said. At first, Makoto had no idea what he meant. He has never been ordered to step into the porn set, apart from setting it up, he wasn’t even allowed to be in the room during (not that he wanted to) filming.

“Come.” The man grabbed him by his arm roughly, dragging Makoto to next door, to the room he set earlier. Everyone was already in the room. The lights were switched on to a glaring bright white and the cameras set focused on the bed.

Makoto was thrown onto the bed with such force, the air was knocked out of him. The men around him sniggered, probably laughing at how weak he was. Though, before he could even regain back his senses, the man that dragged him in ripped open Makoto’s clothes. He couldn’t do anything. He was pounced upon, arms held up above his head, his chest was exposed to the air. Makoto was well aware the camera was rolling.

It wasn’t hard to predict what happened after. The sex was rough, painful and traumatising. But that’s what they wanted. The more he cried, the more they enjoyed. The secretary wasn’t the only one that got a chance. The different men in the room had a slice of the same pie— Makoto couldn’t remember anything after that. The only thing he woke up to was a dirty and sore body, completely in a different place.

…

“NO! No! Get off me!” He didn’t recognise the voice coming out from his mouth, because it sounded so desperate.

Soon enough, he stopped trying. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the feel of the men’s dirty touch. Their sweet whispers made him want to take a knife and carve his ears out.

When it was all over, Chang sent him home. The man had a look of sympathy on his face before blindfolding the young male’s eyes. Not like it was needed. Chang was sure Makoto wasn’t there. He was standing straight, he was breathing, but something was wrong. His dark brown orbs were glassed over like a murky glass bead. He could see but at the same time, was blind to the world. He put on the coat Makoto came with earlier for the boy, before sliding the latter into the car. He placed some music on the radio, but there was no reaction from the boy. He glanced nervously at the rearview mirror. Makoto lips were moving, but no words could be heard.

…

Everything sounded like it was underwater… or maybe he was the one underwater.

“Fuck, you’re useless.”

“Slugger, c’mon, I’m sorry. Eat this, you’ll feel better.”

“Makoto, wake up! You can’t just stop this plan halfway!”

“I thought you were better than this! You’re such a disappointment.”

“Shit… Slugger… My boy, why are you like this…?”

…

He was back. Back to the same room in the big Japanese estate. Chang was better to him today. There were no blindfolds in the car and he managed to keep his coat on up till the point he reached the room. Makoto’s eyes weren’t as glazed over, but he still wasn’t himself. There was a lot going on his head. He entered the same room, with the same men… maybe more. He couldn’t really count. It was like he was in a dream. Everything was blurry—their faces just featureless blobs. Their voices sounded weird like they were run through a mixer. He didn’t know how, but he had walked over to José— though he wasn’t sure. The man took off his underwear… and things got bad. Makoto couldn’t make things out anymore. He closed his eyes, choosing to ignore everything around him.

He felt his body move, felt others touch on him… but he was safe. Inside his mind. He couldn’t focus on what’s happening in real time as the darkness of his mind enveloped him like a mother’s hug. It was warm and welcoming.

He thought back to his father who had once again exchanged money with Chang and waved him off. He wondered why the man even wanted this plan to go on, or was he just being used as a prostitute. Chang was a nice man—as nice as a cartel’s driver could be. Makoto could tell he had a family, a son younger than him. Probably a boy matching his horrible boss’s taste. His family picture could be seen from a tiny hanging keychain on the rearview mirror which swayed mockingly in front of Makoto’s eyes. Digging into his sore spot—almost laughing at him. ‘Even a cartel’s dog has a family and you don’t.’

If he ever had one—apart from his broken family, would be the mismatched family that came together due to their various circumstances to form the ‘confidence team’. Laurent was their elderly brother/father figure. Despite not having a spec of nurturing instinct in him, he bound the team together. He always knew what everyone’s weakness and strengths were, thus enacting his masterful plan by assigning the right roles to each of them. Cynthia was the elder sister he never imagined he’d have. Even though she was selfish at times, she did take care of Makoto and Abbie well. Especially making sure none of them felt left out. Her cooking was great—Makoto remembered the first time he ate her cooking was on her private island, during the after party of Cassano’s bust. The Vietnamese spring roll was delicious. Abbie, on the other hand, was like a little brother to him. Abbie was a girl, but he never thought of her as the opposite sex. Her (almost) crazy violent bouts scare him a little, but he admired her daredevil acts. She always dazzled whenever she rode her dirt bike—and when she pulled stunts, Makoto’s heard would always jump out through his throat. He had to make sure he sits Abbie down to advise her to stop doing that crazy twirly thing on her bike… Though, it wasn’t like he’s going to have a chance.

A lump formed at the back of his throat. He promised himself he wouldn’t cry after his last visit to the room. The men enjoyed it when he cried, and the last thing he was going to do was give in. So, Makoto blinked his tears away and retreated back into his thoughts.

This time, he was in a familiar place. They were in France. Before the whole Coleman drama started, Laurent had tricked him into going on a small holiday trip to Cannes. It wasn’t the film festival’s season, so there were lesser people out and about the streets, but it was still considered crowded in certain areas. Laurent, being the perfect tour guide, led both of them to a quieter street. It was one of those back alleyways that weren’t shady and had some mom & pop shops lining the streets. The walls were filled with beautiful graffiti art giving the dreary grey and brown buildings colour.

Laurent was holding his hand (for some reason Makoto couldn’t remember), but unlike what he’d usually do, Makoto didn’t shake off Laurent’s hand. Maybe it was because the Autumn wind was a little chilly that day… or the fact that Laurent’s gloved hand gave him a sense of safety. The blonde man walked ahead, dragging the Japanese male along. He was excited, whether it was just a facade or not, Makoto found it endearing at that moment. He was always so contradictory. One moment hating Laurent’s guts, the next finding the man to be such a wonder.

“Let’s take a seat,” Laurent said, guiding him to an iron bench against the 2 storey shophouse.

They sat, the cold metal made Makoto shiver. Laurent saw that and laughed, earning a scowl from the younger male.

“I heard Abbie’s competing in another competition.” He said, his eyes were wandering around the streets. Laurent watched the people walking past, the pigeons that were busy pecking on stray crumbs and the hot steam coming out from the café opposite of them.

“Yeah, she told me about it. Another dirt bike course. Apparently, the price is $1 million. It’s got to be dangerous at this point.” Makoto looked down at their hands. Their fingers still intertwined with each other’s. Laurent showed no intention of letting go soon, thus, Makoto didn’t pull away.

“She’ll be fine. We need her for the next one.” Laurent had the upmost confidence in Abbie.

“Why did you choose me?”

“Hm?” Laurent finally took a look at the younger male sitting beside him. His sapphire orbs met with Makoto’s brown ones. An unspeakable emotion burning deep within Laurent’s eyes. Makoto could never read his colleague’s eyes—despite having good knowledge of reading others since it was part of the job.

“You’ve changed us.”

“What?”

“I chose you… not because you’re the best conman in Japan. There are so many other cute Asian boys that could pull off bigger stunts than you,”

“Hey!” Makoto huffed, giving him a glare that didn’t mean much.

“I chose you because… you are the only conman with their values left.”

“Values? I was a shitty person back then… I trick old people, remember?”

Laurent laughed at Makoto’s response.

“You’re kind, helpful, and honest—well, as honest as a conman can be.”

“What?” Makoto felt a sense of deja vu.

“You helped us, didn’t you? You helped Abbie get over her trauma, you helped Cynthia heal from her past. I didn’t choose you because you inherited your ‘skill’ from your father.”

“Wha— how did you know about…”

Laurent smiled, his lips curved into a pretty crescent. He looked down at Makoto’s hands in his. They were much bigger, enveloping the younger male’s fingers. He could feel **_his_** warmth in his hands despite both of them having gloves on.

“Isn’t it time for you to fight back?” The blonde male said as he squeezed Makoto’s hand. As if passing courage through their touch, Makoto realised, he was far, far away from Cannes at the moment. Laurent Thierry wasn’t holding his hand. He wasn’t present—but Makoto was sure he could feel Laurent’s encouragement through their touch.

“Fight,” Laurent said, before letting go—the scenery around them started melting, but everyone didn’t seem to care. A couple at the corner of the café was still sipping their tiny espresso cups, their legs tangled with each other. The elderly lady ordering a croissant from the counter didn’t seem frightened either, she was digging through her purse for change. Makoto looked at the man sitting beside him. Laurent was still there. Their hands no longer together, he smiled.

Makoto gasped, and as if he was dunked into a pool of ice water, he woke up. He was in the same room. The acrid smell of smoke physically hurt his lungs. He was lying on the sofa, John Wang on top of him naked. His throat was being ravaged by the man’s cock. It hurt so bad, but not as bad as what Makoto was going to do to the man on top of him. **He bit down hard.**

A blood-curdling scream echoed throughout the room and it wasn’t Makoto’s. He tasted blood in his mouth as he pushed the Asian man off of him. He was naked, but that didn’t stop Makoto from fighting. He reached over the coffee table to grab hold of the whiskey bottle. It was a thick crystal bottle, but with a loud slam to the edge of the table, the glass broke into pieces as brown liquid stained the floor. The weapon in his hands weren’t the best against guns, but if he used the glass well, he could gain the upper hand. He dove across the coffee table before José could reach for the gun on his chest or ankle to Rick Ramirez. The bulky man had the 2nd to the highest position in the room. If he held the weapon against him, José, being the only one allowed in the room to possess guns, would be stuck. To his knowledge, despite having the same position as José, Rick was well favoured with the cartel higher-ups. He had gained favour by providing plenty of women from his illegal business back in Mexico. From the favour he had gained, he managed to get a bigger portion of the goods to be distributed. If Rick were to die here under José’s watch, the higher ups wouldn’t sit well with that fact.

The crystal pierced skin as Makoto held it up against the man’s neck. He was straddling the man, which felt disgusting, but he couldn’t let himself falter.

“Don’t you dare shoot if you want this man to come out of here alive, José.” Makoto said. He was trying so hard to keep his voice stable. To them, he was a baby— a teenager that has barely held a weapon in his hands before. One wrong move and the feeble attempt of a weapon in his hands would be thrown onto the floor like nothing. He craned his neck to see José staring at him. The man’s right hand held the gun he was trying to pull out from his ankle.

“Put your damn guns on the table.”

Rick wasn’t scared. He was staring intently at the young boy in front of him. He was 100% sure the Japanese male wasn’t able to slide the broken glass bottle against his neck. Blood trickled down his neck, reaching his chest.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” Makoto screamed when Rick tried to grope his ass. The nasty gash on Rick’s neck bled more. They weren’t taking it seriously. He was just a weak doe in front of them. The heavy guns clunked on the coffee table as José set them down. He slid the lethal weapons across to the table towards Rick and Makoto. All of a sudden, as if it was a signal, Rick’s feet kicked the table, flipping the seemingly light table across the room. The crystal glasses and guns crashed to the floor. Before Makoto could do anything, Rick had already punched him in the stomach, knocking all air out of the young male and making him lose hold of the broken bottle in his hand.

“You dare do us dirty, you slut.” Rick pushed Makoto onto the floor. He could feel broken glass pierce his back, but he was in too much pain to even react. He was still trying to breathe, but the bulky man was already on top of him, knees digging into his thighs to hold him down. Makoto screamed— words long forgotten. He just wanted anyone— anyone with a sane mind outside of this room to save him. He didn’t want to give up fighting like before. If he had to die, he wanted to die while giving his murderer a hard time.

He felt a backhanded slap across his face. The side of his head slammed against the dirty floor as blood filled his mouth. Makoto’s legs were pried apart, his swollen hole pressed against.

“NO! SAVE ME! LAURENT!” He screamed and he prayed. He prayed with every single fibre inside of his body for the French man to enter this room and save him. And as if God finally noticed him and decided to give him his pity, the door burst open.

Men wearing dark blue garb from head to toe filled the room immediately. Strapped with heavy-duty guns and protective gear, they looked scary. Everyone’s expression was dead serious, angry even. One man laid eyes on Makoto, and the young male couldn’t help but let tears slip out at the sight of the sympathy the man gave him. He felt dirty being naked in front of all these strangers, but before he could even process anything further, a foreign man entered the room. He had familiar blonde hair— a beautiful platinum gold. His eyes were a pretty sapphire blue, it burnt like very hot fire. He had high brows and a defined nose. The same features that were ingrained deep into Makoto’s mind as fond memories. Laurent Thierry stood in front of him as a godsend.

“Freeze, and get off that boy.” He spat. The man was angry. Makoto had never seen Laurent this angry before. His brows were furrowed in so deep, wrinkles formed in the middle of his forehead. His eyes were narrowed into a glare. Makoto’s heart fell. Was Laurent angry at him? It was he who dug his own grave. If he hadn’t followed his father, he wouldn’t have to be in this situation. Maybe, he’d still be with Laurent. Was Laurent angry that Makoto left him alone in France?

“Fuck,” Rick pushed himself off Makoto, his hands over his head. The 3 other men in the room did the same. He was saved… without those touchy, disgusting hands, Makoto was safe. He wanted to run out of the room, avoiding the sympathetic glances from the police force and Laurent’s unreadable stare. But Makoto couldn’t. His legs were trembling so hard he could barely even stand. His back was bloody and his head throbbing from the slap earlier.

“Wrap it up boys,” Laurent ordered the men in dark blue as he took a step forward. They filed orderly past Makoto and Laurent. The sound of handcuffs and unwilling grumbles could be heard from behind Makoto, but the boy could not even turn his neck to see. He could only lie there, under the blonde man’s stare. The anger hadn’t dissipated from his face.

“I’m… sorry.” Makoto breathed out. His voice had cracked and wavered. Makoto moved his hands to cover his embarrassing privates from Laurent’s stare.

“Fuck, Makoto… Why are… Why are you apologising.” Laurent cursed. This was one of the rare moments the French male curses. Makoto cursed a lot, and he even questioned the man in front of him once—as to why he doesn’t curse. The blonde man just shook his question off, saying it was a dumb question. When Laurent curses, he means it. Tears were threatening to spill from the corner of eyes as he looked at his broken… little soybean. His body was battered in bruises and questionable fluids. He was much skinnier compared to the last time Laurent laid eyes on Makoto.

“Thank you, Laurent.” Makoto whispered. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was seeing at this point. Laurent had turned into a gigantic blob. Maybe it was his tears, maybe it was his fatigue. Makoto was fighting the will to fall asleep. His eyelids felt like tonnes as he mustered up his remaining energy to speak. He closed his eyes after a while, listening to the bustle going around him, then he felt a warm embrace and a _very familiar_ scent.

…

It had been cold for the past few months, but finally, Makoto was in a warm, soft place. He didn’t want to open his eyes. Makoto just wanted to stay in the darkness forever and sleep. Nothing was better than the peace he could find inside of his head. He sighed contently, his head burrowing into soft sheets. He could feel his body float through the air as if he was lying, curled up on a cloud. A memorable scent filled his nose. It was the smell of fresh mint and sharp musky cologne. He never liked musky scents. It made his nose tingle in a bad way… but this smell gave him happiness. If happiness had a colour, it would be yellow. Spots of yellow dotted his pitch-black world, spreading like watercolour in water. He smiled, reaching out to touch the bright sunshine yellow enveloping his body.

He couldn’t hear much in the dark abyss, but he could hear another person’s breathing. It was soft and matching his pace. The breaths would sometimes get louder then fade softer—as if the person was sleeping. Someone was sleeping beside him. But he didn’t want to open his eyes. However, he was starting to **feel** more. His body no longer floating, he could feel the warm sheets around his body, the bright sun through his closed eyelids and Laurent’s scent. The pain started seeping into his consciousness. Makoto frowned, shaking his head. No, he doesn’t want to feel this pain. If he could go back to the darkness— he’d be fine!

“No… NO!” Makoto was thrown out of the abyss rudely. His eyelids wide open, he could see a stark white ceiling. The fluorescent lights were too bright for his pupils, so much so it hurts. He had been in the dark for quite some time after all. He looked around the room. He was in a private hospital room—those he sees in dramas when a rich family member gets hospitalised. The room was designed like a hotel, the King-sized bed in the middle, with a flat-screen TV in front of him. Makoto’s eyes landed on the person lying beside him. The French man was awake from his scream, frantic eyes searching the confused and scared patient.

“Makoto! Thank god you’re awake!” Laurent touched Makoto’s hand. The younger male frowned and looked down at both their hands. His hand was attached to an IV drip hanging from the wall. A patient’s wristband attached to his thin wrist.

“L—Laurent…” Makoto moved his hand away, slipping out from under Laurent’s hold. It wasn’t as if the French man didn’t notice Makoto’s gesture. Laurent forced a smile instead, turning to pour a glass of water that was situated on the bedside table.

“Here, have a drink, then lie back down. You’ve been sleeping for 4 days now! The doctors say it’s just malnourishment and stress… but…” Laurent handed Makoto the glass of water. He couldn’t look the Japanese male in the eye.

“Laurent…” Makoto whispered. No words except for the name of his godsend could come out from Makoto’s lips. He didn’t know what to say to the French man that flew all the way to Japan to save him even after he had betrayed the whole team.

Makoto brought the cup of water to his lips with a trembling hand. The water tasted sweet from the days of dehydration. He gave the cup of water back to Laurent, which Laurent (too enthusiastically) took the cup from him. Makoto finally had time to look at the damage done to his body. His torso was covered in bandages from the damage he had gotten on his back. His head was plastered up with patches from the cuts he’d gotten when Rick hit him. It wasn’t as bad as he thought. Though, he had a urethra tube inserted inside of him leading to a urine bag. His face reddened in embarrassment when he saw the bag hanging at the side of the bed.

“Makoto, let’s talk.” Laurent got up from his visitor’s chair and sat on the edge of the bed. His weight sunk the soft mattress.

“Okay.” Makoto’s voice was small as insecurities crept their way into him. Is Laurent going to ask him to quit the group? Or maybe berate him for betraying them? The French man was just being nice to him because he was sick. He’d have to go back home to his rotten father after Laurent lays him off. Makoto has no idea what he’d do if that happens.

“Why did you leave with your father?”

Without looking at Laurent, tears had already streamed down his cheeks. He didn’t know what to say. **What exactly** made him go with that vile man?

“B—Because he’s my father, and I loved him.” It was simple. They were similar and when he got a little of his father’s attention, he had wanted more.

“Makoto…” Laurent sighed. The French man looked at the young male in front of him. All of a sudden, he was so small. His shoulders were hunched over, defeated. The meat on his body shed away easily those 2 months he didn’t see him. His voice sounded so soft and vulnerable, Laurent could see through the Japanese male.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t think about you… or Cynthia or Abbie’s feelings.”

“No, don’t be sorry. Everyone has their own issues… big or small, it’s not for us to judge nor dismiss. It’s only for you to get over it yourself. We can only help you.” Laurent touched Makoto’s shoulder, slightly glad the crying boy didn’t shake him away or get scared. He rubbed the boy’s shoulder, trying to comfort him.

“I’m sorry…” Makoto mumbled as he brought his legs up to his chest, hugging himself and burying his face into his arms.

“Makoto, I told you, don’t say another word of apology. I love you—and I don’t want to see you be sorry for something that’s not your fault.”

“Y-you… you love me?” Makoto pulled his face away from his arms, looking into Laurent’s eyes. Unlike the usually unreadable orbs, Makoto could tell the man in front of him was serious. Any hint of his mischievous smirk gone from his face.

“Yes. I love you. I love Edamura Makoto. My Edamame, my little soybean. I don’t see a single spec of Seiji Ozaki in you. That man is vile and depraved. You are filled with kindness and talent you didn’t inherit from that man. It’s all yours.” Laurent said.

“I… Laurent… Thank you.” Makoto cried. Tears were uncontrollably streaming down his face like an open tap. He felt warm arms hug his shoulders, Laurent’s face rested on him and he could swear he felt tears from the older male seep through his shirt. But when Laurent pulled away, he was the same as ever, **his** cheery and lively Laurent.

**fin**.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you enjoy it? Hopefully you did :3 Please leave a comment, kudo and bookmark ⊂（♡⌂♡）⊃ love youu


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